revolver
by moon strut
Summary: Go ahead, take a shot. It's time to stop pretending. —natsu&lucy. For underlings.


**dedication: **To **underlings**. You are my beloved first requester, Michelle, and for that, infinite love and precious NaLu moments for you.  
(& sorry, if this isn't exactly what you had in mind, but I did my best!)  
**thoughts: **I made this AU just 'coz.  
**disclaimer: **Disclaimed.

* * *

**revolver**

It starts when she's ten and awkward, and new to the world.

Lucy stares at the crumpled, flimsy daisy shoved unceremoniously before her and at the boy with the scarf and the windswept salmon hair, holding it. A small, shaky hand reaches out to accept the gift, and for a moment, fingers brush and faces flush, but before she can even thank him he's already half way across the park, running and running with no intention of looking back. So she hums a song about sunshine and rainbows and picks the petals off the flower, one by one, ignoring the dirt from the root that falls onto her dress. She leaves the stem on the bench, skipping off and smiling brightly.

She tells herself: This is not love.

,

,

,

Lucy stares at the messily scribbled words on the slip of paper before her and at the boy with the uniform and the spiky salmon hair, sitting at the desk beside hers with a grin that could light up the world. She learns his name and his handwriting and pretends to ignore the note, but in a minute or so, she finds herself throwing her own identity back at him. And then pencils dance, papers fly, and she is lost in fits of giggles and smiles.

She persuades herself: This is not love.

,

,

,

Lucy stares at the hand held out before her and at the young man with the bowtie and the combed salmon hair, standing there, bright lights flashing in an array of colors all around him. She hates high school dances and stupid, sparkly dresses that cover her ankles, but she grabs his hand and takes a step into his world — just this once, she promises herself. And by the end of the night, they're out in the streets, dancing and laughing to the sound of the traffic and the starry night sky. But when he asks if they'll ever do this again, she doesn't answer and instead kisses him on the cheek, gently blushing, and keeps her promise to herself.

She assures herself: This is not love.

,

,

,

Lucy stares at the man lying next to her, with his messy salmon hair and his handsome sleeping face, tracing his lips with her finger. She liked the way his eye brows furrowed and how his nose would twitch from time to time, but as she lies there naked in his arms, she closes her eyes and thinks to herself. Slowly, she lifts up the blanket and gathers her clothes, slipping them on without really caring. But she glances back at him, still softly snoring but clutching the sheets angrily and searching for her warmth. She looks away, hating herself a little, before gently shutting the door.

Surely, she convinces herself, this can't be love.

,

,

,

Lucy stares at her reflection in the embellished, gold-trimmed mirror, and wonders why, instead of a beautiful, elegant bride smiling back at her, all she sees is him, with his pretty salmon hair and his one million dollar smile. And so she kicks off her extravangant pumps and shakes loose her saffron tresses, gathering up her lavish wedding dress and running and running with no intention of ever looking back.

Then she asks herself: Is this love?

,

,

,

He is sitting in the park where they first met fifteen years ago, when they were young and awkward and new to the world. Smiling sadly to the trees all around, he picks off the petals of a crumpled, broken daisy, one by one, ignoring the dirt that falls onto his jeans. As he stands up, leaving the stem on the bench, there is a blur of gold and white, and all questions die on his lips when she kisses him her answers—

_I love you. I love you. I love you. I love you._

She kisses him hard for every time she's ever lied to herself, and he kisses her back, lips bruising and heart fluttering. And in this revolutionary moment, as she holds onto him as if the world were collapsing, he tastes like everything she's ever regretted.

* * *

**ending notes: **So I hope I got the feel of your prompt, Michelle. & I also hope that you (somewhat) enjoyed it! It turned out to be longer than I expected.  
Oh my, I just realized that I didn't use Natsu's name once throughout this fanfic.  
So guys, will you review if I threaten to fart on you?


End file.
